


Hot Fun in the Summertime

by genagirl



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Humor, M/M, vacation fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2013-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-26 02:45:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/960647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genagirl/pseuds/genagirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair takes Jim on a trip.  And sometimes it can be like a slice of heaven.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hot Fun in the Summertime

Hot Fun in the Summertime - gena 

I normally don't even take the tickets, you know? But for some reason this time I did and let me tell you I am, like, extreeeemly happy I did. I mean, how many times in a person's life to they get to spend a week in Paradise with the man of their dreams? If you're Blair Sandburg, I'd say the odds are this one time. And you guessed it - my name is Blair Sandburg. 

So how did it start? You know how kids come along selling chances on some crazy prize? Well, Lindsay, the niece of Mrs. Gunderson in 203, knocked on our door one day with a big book of raffle tickets. She said she was trying to raise money for her Vacation Bible School class and for $5 I could buy a ticket that might win me a week for two at the Boxcar Willie Resort and Waterpark in Branson, Mo. I know what you're thinking - What the hell's Boxcar Willie and who possessing all their faculties would venture out to Branson, MO, right? I'm sure your mind is full of images of white-hairded women, clutching massive handbags as they exit the charter tour bus and ashtrays with hillbilly figures saying Put Yer Butt Here!. You'd be right to think that, but the thing is - it ain't so bad as long as you 1) stay out of those granny's way and 2) avoid Boxcar Willie's show. Branson, even in July when the air is 90% water and heated to 100 degrees can be - nice. If you can talk James Ellison into coming along with you. 

And if you know anything about me you know I can talk James Ellison into anything. So we take a plane to Kansas City International airport which isn't bad for an airport - kinda empty - but not bad. Okay, this is where it gets a little weird. Kansas City is at the opposite end of the state from Branson. They don't tell you that in the tourist brochure, you know? Which means you either rent a car and drive - drive! three hours along crazy-ass hillbilly roads down into the Ozarks or you get on a crop duster and fly into Springfield. It's not really a crop duster but you get the picture. We opted to fly but after about ten minutes I could see it was a major miscalculation on my part. 

Jim does okay on planes, he has to keep a tight rein on his senses, of course. All that re-circulated air, the horrendous noise, the food, the toilets, are hard on him but he can manage and if it's a long flight I make him take something to help him relax and get some sleep. But that's only on big planes and long flights. They don't use big planes to get from KCI to Springfield, they use really small planes with really loud engines. A few minutes into the flight Jim is squirming in his seat and he has that look on his face, the tight pressed lips, the deep lines around his eyes. We'd already spent three hours getting from Cascade and now he was starting to feel the effects. Did I ever mention I had Jim throw up on me once? My own fault, I admit. I was testing his depth perception, having him focus on objects at varying distances as quickly as he could. After about half an hour he got this strange expression and then leaned over and barfed on my shoes. I was beginning to think we were about to repeat that delightful scene. His face was chalky and he had a death grip on the armrest. I saw the guy in the seat opposite us giving Jim a measuring look, I think he knew. 

I knew I had to act quickly or things were going to get ugly. I still had one of those mini glasses full of melting ice so I grabbed it and the handkerchief Jim always carries in his jacket pocket. I doused the cloth with cold water, wrung it out, pushed Jim back in his seat and folded it over his closed eyes. I then spent the next hour trying to make him forget how excruciating being a sentinel can sometimes be. The guy across the aisle looked at us a little funny but I think he knew that I was the only thing standing between him and regurgitated chicken. Jim eventually dozed off, but I kept hold of his wrist and rewet the cloth until we were strafing the Battlefield Mall in downtown Springfield. 

Our fellow passengers let Jim and me off the plane first and before long we were strolling across the tarmac towards the terminal. My partner still looked a little pale and swore I'd have to carry all the bags in retaliation for putting him through hell. Of course, he ended up hefting most of the cases. The resort is a good thirty miles from the airport but there's a shuttle and within ten minutes we were on our way to Boxcar Willie's! It's actually a few miles outside Branson, a nice secluded place were two friends can relax, unwind and forget about the stress of living in America's Most Dangerous City. I mean, Branson is about as far away from murder, blackmail and industrial espionage as you can get. Not to say they don't have crime it's just the Lawrence Welk version as opposed to Cascade's Axel Rose. 

So the shuttle pulls to a stop in front of this rustic looking building and we get out. The lobby is one of those theme things, you know? It's dolled up to look like the inside of a railroad car; weathered boards on the wall, RR signs, those blinking lamps they used to use, I was afraid there might be a train whistle and I'd have to peel Jim off the ceiling but we lucked out. I show my winning certificate and we're whisked off to what the clerk assures me is the "premium car". Now that makes me nervous right there. "Car" is not normally a word I want to associate with sleeping unless Jim and I are on a stakeout. I look over at him and he's giving me that "why did I listen to you" look. Justifiably, I might add. 

Turns out the Boxcar Willie Resort is thirty restored freight cars scattered over a few acres of prime Ozark real estate. Sure, they're fixed up, they have plumbing and satellite TV, ours had a kitchen and a front porch but I was scared Jim would hate it. I plastered on a big smile, ready to admit I'd been had but when I turned around Jim was nodding with approval. "Not bad, Chief," he said and I could tell he meant it. Jim sometimes says what he thinks I want to hear but I always know he's lying, it's the little lines around his eyes. When Jim says something to be polite he might smile but it's only his mouth, when he means it, there's these little lines at the corners of his eyes that crinkle up. They were crinkling like mad! 

I know I said the air in Missouri in the summer is more water than oxygen but that's only during the day. At dusk, around the lakes in the Ozarks, the air is cool and sweet as a Popscile on the Fourth of July. Our boxcar had a porch swing and Jim and I must have sat out there half the night just watching the stars come out and listening to the cicadas in the trees. I honestly can't remember a better time in my life. It wasn't just the fresh air or the soothing sounds of life all around us, it was the fact I was sharing it with Jim. We don't get to do that often enough. Usually we're both moving ninety miles a minute just to stay ahead of all the bad stuff. That first night it was like we'd been running down a deep dark tunnel for a long time and we finally emerged it was into a whole wide world we barely remembered. I'll never forget sitting there, just soaking it all in, I must have shivered because Jim shifted closer, his arm draping around my shoulders and pulling me in against him. 

I've never had a friend like Jim. He's never shied away from comforting another human being. It's like he has so much love inside him and can't seem to express it except through touch. He doesn't care what people think about him, about his life and choices. I know for a fact people at the station comment on the fact he took me in, gave me a home. They assume our whole relationship is sexual but it's not. Jim and I have slept together plenty of times but we've never had sex. I know how that sounds and if I said it to the guys down at the station they'd just laugh and keep collecting on the bets. It's there, the attraction, hell, I can't think of any two straight guys who flirt with each other as much as Jim and I do, but there's a problem - we're straight. We both know if we cross that line there's no turning back and only the fact that we might ruin something so perfect just the way it is keeps stopping us. Of course that has never prevented us from standing with our toes on that line! 

I remember the first night we slept in the same bed. We'd known each other six or eight weeks and I'd been living at the loft at least a month. There was a huge storm that night and the wind slammed one of the building's signs through the window above my bed. Scared the shit out of both of us, let me tell you. Jim came bursting through the curtains into my room in his boxers with his gun in hand. There was glass and rain everywhere. Jim shifted from Commando mode to Bob Vila in a heartbeat, told me to stay put and went to put on his shoes, he tossed me a pair and together we stapled a garbage bag over the window to keep the rain out. It was after midnight when we finished, I was exhausted and my bed was soaked. He took one look at me and said, "You can sleep upstairs tonight." Casual, like he didn't think anything about it. That made me not think twice about accepting, I mean it wasn't any big deal to him so why should it be to me? I slept in his bed for a week - it took that long to get the window fixed. 

After that it didn't seem strange to me at all for two grown men, straight men, I might add, to occasionally sleep in the same bed. I guess I was deluding myself, I mean, that's not really too common. But there were nights, especially after a bad case, when I climbed those stairs and slipped into bed with him and it was like slipping into a world where nothing could hurt either of us. Jim has demons of his own and they seem to play out in his mind when he sleeps. I can always tell when it's going to be one of those nights and usually I just ask if I can sleep upstairs that night. He shrugs, says, "suit yourself, Sandburg" and heads up. It seems to help if I'm there with him, he might wake up but I feel a light touch, like he's reassuring himself we're still there together, and then he goes right back to sleep. Don't get me wrong, it's not all altruism on my part, I've had my share of bad nights, too. He never says a word when I climb up the stairs and slip into bed with him. We don't talk about it, it's just a natural thing for us and it's never been about sex. The difference that night was - I think for the first time, I wanted it to be. 

Moonlight poured through the window and over Jim's smooth skin like liquid silver. I propped myself up on one elbow and just looked at him. I could tell he was watching me watching him. I've been to some of the greatest museums on Earth and seen the most beautiful works of art but they all paled in comparison to what I could see beside me. Jim is breathtaking, his body is nearly perfect in proportion, his wide shoulders narrow down to a slender waist and long legs. He's muscled but lean with surprisingly delicate wrists and artist's graceful fingers and when he reached out and gently touched my face suddenly the line we had drawn between us didn't seem so substantial. I moved into his arms, pressing myself into the space he made for me just as I'd pressed myself into his life years ago. He didn't disappoint me anymore than he had the first weeks of our friendship, he seemed to have been waiting for me. "I love you," he whispered in my ear. 

I hope to god I whispered it back, but my heart was beating so loudly I can't say for sure. But I do remember the kiss. I will never forget it. Imagine you're a child and you've never had anything - no family, no friends, no Christmas presents, no birthday parties and then one day someone comes along and gives you everything you ever dreamed about. I felt like that kid, I felt as if my life until that moment had been utterly empty and then with one kiss Jim granted every wish I had, fulfilled every dream I will ever dream. He held my face between his hands, his forehead against mine and said it again, "I love you, Blair. God help me, but I love you more than anything in this world." 

We made love then. It was incredible; a mix of passion and tenderness that left us bruised, sweaty and completely sure that this was what we both wanted. From that moment on, I don't think either one of us gave a rat's ass that we were stuck in Branson, MO! The first couple of days we didn't do anything but stay in our boxcar and ordered "hobo takeout", meals the staff, dressed as hobos, brought to the door. In the evening we'd head down to Lake Tanihaha for a dip in the clean, cool water. The sight of Jim in his swim trunks usually cut short the public recreational part of our evening. He doesn't like those baggy, to the knees trunks that are all the rage today and says Speedos are for guys with something to prove. My Jim, I love the sound of that! My Jim wears trunks that hug his ass and upper thighs and show off how long his legs are. The first time we walked down to the dock I thought I'd have to beat the girls off Jim with a stick. Some of them must have gotten whiplash watching him walk by. He laughed and said they were more than likely looking at my ass but I know the truth. 

It was great to be away from the normal pace, to unwind and just spent time together. Our little vacation was a slice of Heaven, I've got to say it turns out South Missouri is kinda neat. We rode horses through some of the most spectacular places, along rivers and high in the hills. We rented a paddle boat and spent an entire day on Truman Lake working on our tans. We shopped in downtown Branson for tacky souvenirs for the guys at the station. We spent a day at Silver Dollar City and Jim gave me a detailed description of what the Catfish Catapult feels like to someone with sentinel abilities. We visited the Shepherd of the Hills and both of us were damn near in tears by the end of it. Our last night there was the Fourth of July and the Boxcar Willie Extravaganza seemed to be THE hottest celebration in town. We watched from the front porch of our little boxcar and it really was something. 

About 9:30 the fireworks began. I was a bit worried how they might affect Jim but after a few adjustments he did okay. The best adjustment was that he curled up on the porch swing beside me with his head in my lap and let me massage his scalp until he purred with pleasure. Watching those rockets burst across the sky made us both damn proud to be Americans, and reminded us that even though it was tough, being a cop helped keep people safe, happy and free. I looked down at the man in my arms and my heart swelled, Jim is truly a hero. He's one of the most courageous men I know and I'll never love another human being the way I love him. He must have felt the intensity of my gaze, his eyes met mine and I could see he felt exactly the same way. We made our own fireworks after that. It was a hell of a display! 

And that's how I spent my summer vacation - finding true love in the Missouri Ozarks. I gotta send Boxcar Willie a thank you. 

Blair Sandburg  
Cascade, WA 

The end. 

Author's Note: I'm from MO and my family is from south Missouri. However, it's been years since I was down in Branson (we live up in the northern part of the state now) and I made up a lot of stuff Jim and Blair did. There is a Boxcar Willie and I think he has a theater down there but I don't think there are any actual boxcars. Silver Dollar City and Shepherd of the Hills are real and fun. And you can buy tacky souvenirs in Branson.


End file.
